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When I’m fully dressed, I note that I still have a few minutes. I head into my bathroom to pull my long hair into a ponytail and after considering my face, I freshen up my makeup. I don’t wear a lot on any given day, but I brush on another coat of mascara and add some tinted lip gloss.
I stare at myself with censure.What are you doing, Danica?
There’s a knock at the front door and I jolt.
Camden’s here.
I don’t know whether I should hate myself. I just rushed home to meet Camden, who’s going to change out the batteries in my smoke detectors and help me organize my garage. Not a big deal.
But here I am, staring into the mirror, worried about how I look.
I grab a tissue and wipe the gloss off my lips, but there’s nothing I can do about the extra mascara. I toss the tissue in the garbage and race down the stairs, taking a deep breath before I open the door.
Camden stands there and… goddamn it. The first thought that runs through my head is how handsome he is.
That’s not exactly a revelation. I’ll fully admit I thought Camden was handsome back when I was married to Mitch, just like I thought many of the players were.
Exactly like I thought many of the wives were beautiful and the kids were adorable.
It’s only natural, right? To appreciate beauty.
“Can I come in?” Camden asks and I flush hot at the realization I was staring mutely at him because his messy hair and scruffy beard are way too hot.
“Yes. Yes, of course. Sorry. I guess I’ve still got work on the brain.”
Lie. Absolute lie.
“Busy day?” he asks, stepping across the threshold. He’s dressed casual in jeans and a Titans sweatshirt. He’s got on a pair of battered black Converse high-tops.
“Not overly. I got some stuff done last night so I could scoot out early to meet you here. I really appreciate you offering to help.”
And yes, despite me getting girl stupid over how handsome Camden is, he’s actually pushing me to do something I’ve put off for a long time.
Cleaning out my garage, which means cleaning out some of Mitch’s stuff. Camden doesn’t know that. I mean, he doesn’t know that all those boxes stacked in dangerous towers that could topple at any minute are Mitch’s clothes, shoes, books, memorabilia, awards and almost a decade of collected memories. I bet if he did know, he’d never have offered to help.
It’s not that I want to get rid of any of it. Quite the opposite, I want to keep most of it, but it does need organizing and I wasn’t able to put some of the boxes up on floating shelves above the garage door rails. My goal is to separate the clothing that can be donated, less a few things to keep for Travis, and then clean and organize the garage. Camden’s offer to help, along with an unseasonably warm January day—upper forties—and I knew this was the perfect chance to get it done.
“Want to start on the garage or do the batteries first?” I ask.
“How about we do the garage first?” he suggests. He holds up a small plastic bag. “I bought all the batteries but if we run out of time before you have to pick up Travis, I can hang back here and get those done.”
“It’s a plan,” I reply, ignoring the slight thudding in my chest because I realize that Camden smells really good. I take an involuntary step backward.
“All right,” he says with a bright smile. “Let’s go take a look at the project.”
We head out the back door and through the yard to the freestanding garage. It has a standard door to enter from the side and the rolling portion where my car enters faces the alley. I left my car parked on the street so that when we walk inside, Camden will have a good idea of what we’re working with.
He glances up and says, “We need to identify what you don’t need easy access to and then put those boxes up there.”
“Mitch’s stuff,” I say, and I have to swallow the uprising of sadness from deep in my chest.
Camden faces me, his eyes soft with understanding. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Yeah… I need to. I would have done it when we first moved in, but things were crazy and I didn’t have the help you’re offering. I need to sort boxes of his clothes that will go to donation. The stuff I keep will be for Travis one day.”
He nods in understanding, glancing around. “Okay… three piles. One to keep that will go up high, one to keep that you need easy access to and that can go on the wall shelves, and one pile to donate. I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”
It’s his crisp words and easy organizational ideas that put me at ease, making this no more than a project that involves some rearranging and has nothing to do with erasing something from my life. There’s nothing wrong with getting rid of things like clothes and only keeping those pieces that are drenched in important memories.
